


Love and Other Accidents

by goblinish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Medical, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:24:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goblinish/pseuds/goblinish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a scowly EMT with epic eyebrows. Stiles keeps getting hurt in bizarre ways. These two facts are completely unrelated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Other Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> (I pretty much just went "la la la medicine!" here, so do not expect verisimilitude. :D)

**Love and Other Accidents**

The first time, it was Isaac's fault. 

Stiles couldn't even really blame him, as the whole thing happened because Isaac was staring at Danny. Danny is distractingly attractive and he smells nice. It's hard to pay attention in chem when someone nice-smelling is sitting right next to you - Stiles gets that, he was Lydia's lab partner for two whole weeks in eighth-grade, he totally gets it. 

So anyway, Isaac was distracted and it led to a minor explosion or two and then Stiles's arm was burning like fuck. There may have been screaming. But if there was screaming, it was certainly not girly screaming. 

(Because, who are we kidding here, girly screaming would be a lot tougher-sounding than Stilesy-screaming). 

But then there was an EMT. An EMT named Derek, with dark hair and scruff and fucking _beautiful_ eyes, and he was scowly and curt and rude in this adorably awkward way and clearly just needed hugs. Somewhere in the back of Stiles's head, he could hear Allison saying very firmly that no matter what Beauty and the Beast teaches you, a boy who is mean to you is not doing it because he likes you, but come on now, EMT Derek was obviously just cuddle-starved. And Stiles could fix that.

So Stiles told him so. 

It is possible that the pain meds had already started doing their work by then.

But the important part of the story is that Stiles told Derek all about Isaac, and Isaac's crush on Danny, and covalent bonds, and sea-horses, and Beauty and the Beast, and just talked and talked and _talked_ (and talked some more) and he closed with the fact that whatever was causing the cuddle-shortage in Derek's life was a travesty, because (and here Stiles tried to look very serious, very grave, because this part was important) - 

Derek deserved cuddles. 

Everyone did. 

And then Derek smiled down at him, and whoa, just, whoa, but - it was like the sun had come out. 

\--

Then Derek closed the door, leaving Stiles in the back of the ambulance with Cheerful Laura, and went around to the driver's seat. 

So anyway, that was the first hour of the first class of Stiles's undergraduate career. 

Welcome to college. 

\--

The fourth time wasn't Stiles's fault, either. 

It was _all Cream Puff._

"Well, uh. There was a dog." 

Derek frowned. The expression was not significantly altered from his previous one. "You're not bitten anywhere, are you?"

"No, no, no," Stiles said, waving his arm around airily, which - ow. Bad idea. 

Derek scowled and took Stiles's arm back, and Stiles tried to figure out what made Derek's scowl different from the frown. Something in Derek's eyes, he thought. 

"Stop moving," Derek said, and went back to fixing the cut on Stiles's forearm. "I'm sure I'll regret this, but. A dog?"

"Oh! Yeah. A dog," Stiles said. "Mrs. Pinkerton's dog. Yappy little thing. Anyway, it ran away and then I had to save it from a wolf."

Derek paused in his ministrations, closed his eyes, and opened them again. He reached behind him for more medical tape, then started in on the stitches. "A wolf."

"Well. Probably not, elsewise Mr. Green probably wouldn't be allowed to keep - ow! oh, I'm fi - fuuu-fudge. Fine, I'm fine - uh. Keep it. As a pet, I mean, keep it as a pet. Mr. Green."

"Okay?" Derek asked gently, and Stiles nodded. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, breathed. "Yeah, I'm good, keep going," and Derek did.

"Not a wolf, then?" Derek asked, sounding for all the world as though he didn't care. Which was ridiculous. This story was fascinating. 

"Nah. Maybe some kind of husky-shiba mix, only it's huge? I don't know. But - wh-whoa…no really still fine -" Stiles paused, breathed in, breathed out, "-Yeah. Cream Puff got under Mr. Green's fence, and Atilla went fucking crazy - sorry, freaking crazy? Flipping?"

Derek rose his eyebrows. 

"Fucking it is," Stiles said, because he may have been raised with manners but you could only really _challenge accept_ an expression entirely made up of eyebrows.

The corner of Derek's mouth rose, not quite a smile but without the meanness of a smirk, and Stiles realized what he'd just said. He tried not to blush. Yeah, no, he was totally blushing. 

"Fuck," he said again. Muttered, really. "ANYWAY," Stiles continued, "Attila's a fucking wolf. Fucking. Yeah. I wasn't going in there, you know? So I reached under the fence to grab Cream Puff, and the fence _gored_ me on the way back, that's a mean fucking fence, it didn't even try anything with Cream Puff, and also there was no rust on it anywhere, I checked, I totally do not need a tetanus shot."

"You're up on them, anyway," Derek said absently. "The nail gun incident."

Ah, yes. Their second 'date.' Stiles remembered it well. 

Derek's grip on Stiles's arm changed, as Derek moved to start bandaging him up. And it was stupid, but - Derek's _hand moved_. Stiles had been used to the touch, but the skin Derek was touching now had never had Derek's hand on it before, and now Stiles was going to have to get used to it all over again, and - just. Stiles liked Derek's hands.

Ugh, why couldn't Derek just ask him out. 

Weirdly, it was Derek to break the silence. (Derek was usually the guy perfectly content to let an awkward silence grow to epic proportions without ever noticing that it was awkward. Strong, silent type, and all that). "So," Derek said, winding the bandage around Stiles's arm, "you shredded your arm in order to rescue a dog named Cream Puff, owned by a Mrs. Pink, from a dog named Atilla…owned by Mr. Green."

Uh. That did sound pretty stupid. 

"No," Stiles said. "It's Pinkerton. Mrs. Pinkerton."

Derek nodded. "Pinkerton. So noted."

"And, really, I'd say it's more like Mrs. Pinkerton is Cream Puff's pet."

Derek didn't reply. 

"And. Well, I think 'shredded' is a strong word, here."

"Right," Derek said. "We're done here." 

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, okay." 

Derek stood up, and then just sort of…stood there. Hands on hips. Looming. 

"Um?" Stiles asked.

Derek glowered. This was a new one for Stiles. Glares, scowls, frowns, all of these were common, but the glower - damn. It was pretty impressive. 

"Stop getting hurt," Derek said, like a moron. 

"It's not like I can control it."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I don't care, just stop it," he said, and stomped off.

"You'd miss me!" Stiles shouted after him. 

Whatever, it was true. 

\--

They don't really talk about the seventh time.

Screaming breaks and screeching metal and he hurt all over, it hurt so bad, and oh, Allison's poor car, and then wow, yes, the ambulance was there and that meant Derek, Derek was there and Stiles knew he was going to be alright. 

But Derek saw him, and then, then - the look on his face. It was awful. Stiles would never forget the look on Derek's face.

Cheerful Laura probably wouldn't, either. She took one look at Derek and ordered him over to the other driver, and Derek went without even looking at Stiles. 

The thing is - so, uh, that was the summer that Lydia and Danny finally got Jackson to watch Magic Mike, and Jackson promptly decided he'd be a better stripper than Channing Tatum (which, no), so they went out and bought him a bunch of glitter thongs and shit. 

And it was also the summer that Allison decided not to take it as an insult anymore, that everyone called her a Disney princess, and instead decided to take it as career advice. And got a job. As a Disney princess. Stiles wasn't sure why it worked, but for some reason, Allison walking around all the time dressed as Snow White had made people stop teasing her about it, the way pointedly shooting arrows at the groins of paper targets hadn't. (Olympic archer. Stiles has the coolest friends). 

And what all this meant was that, because Stiles was in the midst of helping his friends move into the house they were all going to share for the next year (thank _fuck_ they were out of the dorms), he was driving all this shit around in Allison's car. And after the drunk driver t-boned it…well, then all the wardrobe accoutrements of Stiles's friends ambitions were all on the road. 

And, see, Stiles would really have liked the opportunity to explain to Derek that neither the neon green glitter thong nor the Snow White costume were his. (Not that there was anything wrong with either one! Which he also would have explained. Because yay kink, kink is good, it's all fine, etc. And, um, yeah, so Stiles would be willing to try either one, or anything really, if it might get Derek to put his hands in more interesting places. Stiles may have wanted to run through the entire kama sutra with Derek, and that was dedication, okay, some of that stuff looked pretty hinky, but anyway). He could have made that speech last a good ten minutes. Derek might have smiled once, even twice. (Derek didn't even bother anymore to pretend he didn't like it when Stiles rambled on.)

But Derek was helping the other driver. And he wasn't looking back. 

\--

Derek visited him in the hospital every day.

Stiles had plenty of opportunity to ramble at him. It was awesome. But still, Stiles's favorite thing about the whole mess was when he woke up at three in the morning to find Derek asleep in a chair beside his bed, slumped forward, his head resting against Stiles's knee. 

Stiles made a mental note to thank Mrs. McCall for letting Derek stay after visiting hours, and hoped he'd have the wherewithal to remember his mental note in the morning.

Half-asleep himself, half-happy-drugged, and all in love, Stiles reached out and ran his fingers through Derek's hair, behind his ear. It still hurt to move, a little, but it was worth it. Derek stirred, and woke, a small frown line between his eyes. 

"You'll hurt your back," Stiles said quietly. 

"I'm fine," Derek said, and didn't move. 

"I'm sorry I woke you," Stiles said. "You can go back to sleep, and I won't talk at you."

Derek frowned sleepily. "I like when you talk," he said, and Stiles smiled so wide his face hurt. 

"I'm going to remind you that you said that," Stiles said. "Like, a lot."

"I'll deny it," Derek replied, sanguine, and went right back to sleep. 

Stiles kept smiling. 

\--

The eighth time was also Cream Puff. 

Damn that dog. Just, seriously, what the fuck.

Though, in fairness, Stiles also had to admit that Crazy Hot Couple played a relatively large part in the proceedings, as well.

\--

Zooey McGrath and John Weaver lived four houses down from Mrs. Pinkerton. Stiles had only ever met them once. It had gone something like this:

Stiles: _(walking Mrs. Pinkerton's dog)_

John: _(running out of their house)_ And I'm not sorry!

Zooey: _(screams incoherently)_

She then threw a vase of flowers from out of nowhere, presumably aimed at John's head, but instead it broke over the head of her new car. 

Zo: Oops?

And then the devastated couple mourned the paint job by making out on the hood.

On this fine morning, what Stiles didn't know as he once again walked proud little Cream Puff around the neighborhood on her bedazzled turquoise leash was that it was John's and Zooey's anniversary, and John was worried that the spark was going out of their relationship. In consequence, he had decided to buy a new bed. But, see, he couldn't possibly buy a bed without first making room for it, so he had to get rid of the old one. 

Feeling particularly pleased for himself at having had the smarts to find a house with an upstairs balcony, John threw out all their bedding on the lawn and then proceeded to maneuver the mattress onto the balcony through the sliding glass door. He had an awesome sexy night planned. He was thinking he could fling the mattress over into the yard, and then, when Zooey got home, and fell in love with their new bed, they could fuck on it for hours, and then jump off the balcony onto the old mattress in the yard. 

(They had met at a lake party, where they were the only two people drunk enough to think it was a great idea to jump off a bridge into the water below. So this was a great idea. Romantic and symbolic and shit.)

But Cream Puff slipped her leash. 

So there was a crazy man with a mattress, and a tiny dog doing manic little circles in the grass, and Stiles. 

Look, he had to save Cream Puff, okay? Mrs. Pinkerton would have been devastated. 

\--

"No."

"Derek-"

"No. What the fuck. What the fuck, Stiles."

"Hey, I missed you, how've you been?"

Derek rubbed his palm down his face, sighed. "No," he said.

"What does that even mean."

"It means no. Your privileges are revoked. You are not allowed."

"Privileges? What, for accidents? _Life privileges_? Derek, what-"

"Are you trying to earn a record for exotic injuries? Are you trying to lose a limb?"

"This was not exotic!"

Derek glared. "Falling. Mattress."

Stiles glared right back. "Nowhere near as weird as that whole zoo thing." 

Ah, their sixth not-date. 

The geese had escaped their habitat to freely roam around the zoo. (Geese! Why couldn't he have fought a lion, ugh). There'd been a lot of flailing and tripping over rocks and falling in ponds, and he was never quite sure where all the injuries had even come from. Geese were fucking vicious. 

Derek gave him the stink-eye. "Are you doing this on purpose?"

"Why would I?" Stiles grumped. "All you ever do is fix me up, it clearly isn't working!"

"Wait," Derek said. "Wait, what?" and oh, apparently Stiles really did just imply that he finds increasingly strange ways to injure himself in order to fabricate not-dates with Derek. 

"Fuck my life," Stiles said, and: "That. No. That came out wrong."

"Um?" Derek said, which was articulate, even for him. 

"I'm really not. Really. This is not on purpose. Like, at all."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously."

"Good. I'm glad you know that."

Silence.

"Sometimes mattresses just fall over balconies, you know? It happens." 

Derek shined his flashlight thingy into Stiles's eyes. 

"Derek, come on, I didn't even hit my head." 

"Just checking. Protocol. I'm sure you understand."

"Uh. Right. Listen, do you have a business card? Like, with a phone number? For emergencies? Since clearly I am prone to them and, like, you're my favorite paramedic, you know, I like to be prepared-"

Derek rested his index finger very lightly over Stiles's mouth. 

Stiles stopped talking.

Derek moved his hand until it cradled Stiles's jaw, his thumb lightly grazing Stiles's lower lip, a tease. He looked a little distracted.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, and Derek's thumb was still there, so Stiles kissed it. 

Derek sucked in a breath, leaned forward, just a little bit. "Yeah, Stiles?"

"Do you want to get dinner tonight? There's the new Thai - but hey, burgers if you're feeling traditional, or Denny's if you want to get fancy, I'm an easy guy - wait, I mean - "

Derek closed the distance and kissed him. 

It was a really, really good kiss. 

Damn. 

Derek pulled back a small eternity later. Stiles licked his lips, and Derek's eyes followed the movement, and that was - yeah, that was good. Stiles could work with that. 

"Dinner," Derek said. "Yes."

And they lived happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/6131.html?thread=5359347#t5359347
> 
> This one kind of wrote itself. It made me happy. :)


End file.
